Header: Wrapped in the tarp. Detail from 5Detective Novels, Epson

Footer: Molly bound to the bed. Detail from the novel The Man Who Laughed at Murder by JohnCreasy as Gordon Ashe, in Mr Irony’s site.

A sheet of salt foam gurgled through the sluice. It spread outwards and upwards, just as it would on a sandy beach. It defied gravity as it washed up the steeply sloping floor of the slipway where Melody and Mia lay trapped tightly together in their rigid cocoon. Melody found that she could barely struggle. All she could do was strain within the cords embedded in her limbs and body, fighting uselessly against the stiff canvas with its wrappings of rope and chain at her back and her waist. Her breasts ground against those of Mia, and Melody could feel the ropes that bound her friend rubbing against her own body. One short length in particular chafed her left breast, making it sore and tender.

Melody lifted her head. The last wave was receding. It had a phosphorescent glow, a quality imparted by the hazy bluish-green of the light that filtered in weakly from a vent somewhere high above them. Was it full moon? The wave had almost reached their feet.

Melody lowered her head and looked at Mia, trapped even more tightly beneath her, sharing the stiff wrappings that would be their shroud. She could feel her friend’s dark hair - it glinted strangely in that subaqueous air - and the gag cleaving the corner of her mouth was a misty white band. In the gloom, Mia’s eyes seemed to be closed. Had she lost consciousness, or was the worst happening?

Another surge of seawater rushed through the sluice, this time with more energy so that it flowed around their legs to their knees before retreating with a horrible sucking noise. Minute by minute the waves came higher. Melody watched in tortured fascination. The surge mesmerised her. It was inconsistent, teasing her with false hope. There were long pauses when Melody almost believed that the tide was no longer going to rise higher. Then it began again with a renewed rush and sucking. Soon the foam was caressing the two helpless women at their waists. Then it was swirling about Melody’s shoulders. She lifted her head to keep her face from the spray.

The floor’s slope was such that by the time the tide was at their necks the bodies of the two bound women were covered to the chest. The force of each wave shifted their legs slightly, threatening to turn them and perhaps drag them under. But the heavy chains about their torsos anchored them to the sandy floor.

Melody lifted her head as high as she could and looked frantically around her. The doorway with the steps that led to freedom was a darker shape in the dull light, its safety unattainable. Melody’s heart skipped a beat as she realised that Mia would go beneath the surface first. Already her raven hair was floating about her face like an exotic genus of sea grass. Melody lifted her head again, as far as she could manage against screaming neck muscles, and called for help as loudly as she could through the packing that filled her mouth.

‘Helf, helf. Ggg’.

The cloth stifled her cries and a fine cloud of salt spume caught her in the face and started her choking. This is it. Mia my love, there’s no way we’re getting out of this! She closed her eyes for a moment and nuzzled Mia’s cheek with her own but, determined to stare death in the face and to see her darling friend through to the end, she forced her eyes open.

Was there a sound above the gurgling, surging tide that now almost covered them? Melody’s ears strained. She attempted to shut out the sea. Were those footsteps she heard, echoing from the passage above?

There appeared to be a movement somewhere within the deeper black of the doorway. Then a torch sprang into life, its beam jerking from side to side and up and down, orienting its holder to the space within the cellar. Melody threw her body against the tarpaulin wrappings with renewed strength driven by desperation and, amazingly, succeeded for a moment in half sitting up with Mia attached against her. The water cascaded down her shoulders while another incoming wave surged around her chest, totally immersing Mia as it came.

‘Boss! De girls, dey’re ‘ere! One a dem’s gone under!’

‘Quick, mate. Come on!’

Two figures emerged from the stygian stairwell and splashed their way to where Melody and Mia lay. A torch played briefly over Melody’s face as one of the two men scooped them both from the foam. As they staggered back towards the doorway with their chain-laden burden, one of the men pocketed the torch and the cellar returned to its almost-darkness. He took Melody where her armpits would have been if she had not been trussed within the canvas and hoisted both women effortlessly. It was big Bill Hudson. In the lifting, Mia and Melody’s positions were reversed. It was Melody who now lay beneath Mia and felt the weight of her friend’s lissom body pressed firmly against her own. Even in those dire moments Melody had time to appreciate the comfort the feeling gave her.

Johnny Montague and Bill Hudson lowered their charges to the cement steps and began to work on the knots of their gags.

‘Ere boss. Use me knife.’

When Mia’s gag had been cut away she rolled her head, opened her eyes with a start, and expelled the wadding, coughing up a dribble of seawater at the same time. Her hair was plastered across her face. Johnny brushed it aside gently with both hands. Mia nodded her thanks and promptly passed out.

Melody gulped in a lung full of air as her gag came away. The man’s fingers had to remove it, for she was too exhausted to make the effort herself. She looked up into the broad battered visage of her rescuer.

‘Th- Thanks, Bill. I owe you one.’

‘It’s on us, kid,’ said Johnny Montague from over Bill’s shoulder. ‘Bill, I reckon we’re goin’ to need more than your knife for these chains. The links are connected with copper wire so they won’t slip.’.

‘No worries, boss.’ Bill Hudson took the chains in both hands and with little apparent effort pulled them apart. The copper wires snapped and the heavy links fell away.

‘G- Get this stuff off us,’ Melody said through chattering teeth, ‘But do Mia first.’

As Johnny cradled Mia’s head and neck, Bill Hudson carefully unwound the folds of heavy canvas. Melody looked on anxiously. Mia’s face was white, but her eyelids fluttered and, when they opened, she looked at Melody and tried to smile reassuringly. The weary grimace that resulted only increased Melody’s concern. The last folds of the tarpaulin came away to concerned grunts of surprise from the two men.

Johnny’s eyes became fixed and dilated as the two women’s bodies, naked except for the ropes that cruelly bound them, were revealed from under the canvas. ‘Close yer eyes, mate,’ he muttered to Hudson. But it was with intentional irony. If ever Mia and Melody needed close personal attention it was now.

Hudson phlegmatically cut the cords while Johnny cradled Mia even more tenderly. When Mia was free, the canvas was folded over her again to help entrap some warmth, and Johnny Montague and Bill Hudson turned their attentions to Melody. In crises like this, there’s no room for false modestly, thought Melody as now her bonds were carefully removed.

Johnny took Mia in his arms, Hudson lifted Melody in his, and without a word the two men ascended the steps. Melody saw Mia curl up in Johnny Montague’s embrace like a child. Her dark hair, still damp and tousled, nested close to the man’s shoulder. Melody looked up at her rescuer. ‘Th- Thank you,’ she said again.

Big Bill Hudson looked down at her. His rugged face softened. ‘You okay now Mel’dy. We’se lookin after you an y’ frien.’ Me an Johnny.’ Ignoring the fact that she was lying naked in Bill’s arms, Melody Hazard closed her eyes and drifted into an exhausted half-sleep.

*

Melody roused to immediate consciousness in the bright lights of the drawing room as Johnny Montague and Bill Hudson entered with her and Mia Chantal in their arms. A striking tableau met their eyes. In the centre of the room with one hand on her hip stood Molly Fusil. In her other hand she held the big Luger automatic, training it on the space between Sir Herbert Murgatroyd and Karl who were standing nervously over against the far wall. All that was required was a slight shift in alignment for the dangerous end of the Luger to come to bear on one or the other of the two men. Jasmine Morris sat huddled wide-eyed in a corner of the sofa, her arms around her knees. Orly stood behind her in a graceful pose, one hand in the side pocket of his dinner jacket. The other hand rested warningly on Jasmine’s shoulder. Brentford stood by the window, a little further back from his colleague.

Molly Fusil cast a swift half-glance at the newcomers. ‘I see you found them.’

‘Yeah kid. But in the nick of time as they say,’ replied Johnny Montague.

Johnny paused during the exchange but Hudson continued to walk across the room, keeping well back from Molly and the likely line of fire should Karl or Murgatroyd make an unwelcome move. He lowered Melody onto the sofa at the furthest end from Jasmine, then stepped back a pace or two.

Melody was still naked and acutely aware of the fact. She crossed her legs and took up a large cushion that lay in the corner of the sofa and hugged it to her chest. It covered her body from her lap, but there remained a hint of decolletage above. She felt that all eyes were on her and, blushing furiously, she reached to her side and picked up what appeared to be a blanket of some sort that had been lying under the cushion. As its folds fell apart, Melody saw that it was an old trench coat. It looked vaguely familiar. It also offered a more complete and therefore better means of covering her nakedness. With a sigh, she shook out the garment, making sure that she was screened from sight as it unfurled, and pulled it around her shoulders and up to her chin like a blanket.

A faint collective expulsion of air came from several mouths. Johnny was still carrying Mia in his arms. Orly was facing Murgatroyd a fraction more directly and had removed his hand from Jasmine’s shoulder. He had not taken his eyes off Murgatroyd aside from a momentary flicker in Melody’s direction. No one else had moved. Jasmine, still folded into a ball, was goggling silently at Melody.

Molly was the first to shake herself out of the fugue. ‘All right, let’s get down to business ...’

‘I guess we have to ask ourselves what to do with these types,’ said Johnny Montague.

‘Hand them over to the police!’ cried Mia from where she lay nestled in Johnny’s arms. ‘People like that should be locked up and the keys thrown away!’ Then, addressing Jasmine directly, she added, ‘Melody told you, you little minx, that you couldn’t get away with it.’

‘Nicely put dear,’ drawled Molly. ‘But first there are questions I want answered. For instance ...’ But Molly was interrupted by a savage scream from Jasmine.

‘That’s it! That’s ... that, ohhh you high class bitch. All the time ...!

Screeching incoherently, Jasmine hurled herself violently across the sofa at Melody and tore the overcoat from her grasp. It was a mistake.

Melody snarled, leapt to her feet and - ignoring her nakedness - hauled off and hit Jasmine full in the face. The punch was so energetic that Jasmine sailed back onto the sofa and bounced from there to the floor, where she lay still.

‘Wonderful right jab that,’ Brentford applauded. ‘Or is that a hay-maker?’

‘Uh, K.O.,’ added Hudson, ‘Not tech’nal neither!’

‘Good work kid,’ muttered Johnny.

The sight of a naked and delectably full-breasted young woman in pugilistic movement held the attention of everyone in the room, except for two people. There was a thin but sharp report. Sir Herbert Murgatroyd staggered backwards, holding one hand in the other. He collided with the wall and slithered down it as his legs gave way until he was sitting in an untidy heap on the floor.

Hard on that distraction came a blur of movement as Karl took the opportunity to turn and race for the door. Among the rescuers, Johnny Montague was the closest, but his arms were full. He was still carrying Mia. However, Karl disappeared through the doorway only to re-emerge backwards a fraction of a second later, face to face with Broderick Clifford. A large hand descended onto the lapel of Karl’s jacket. Another hand took him by an elbow. Karl let out a strangled ‘urk’ as he was spun round and slammed into the wall. Brod cheerily banged the man several times against that structure before allowing his recumbent form to slide gracelessly to the floor.

Brod looked up and paused. Behind him Clive Devereau appeared in the doorway, revolver in hand, Oscar Holme in his wake. After Jasmine’s screaming and the shouting that had followed, the room was now very quiet. Melody, who was still standing over Jasmine’s recumbent form with her fists clenched, saw why. Molly’s automatic was trained on the doorway. It now covered the DORFIS operatives. She cleared her throat.

‘Come in won’t you? We were just talking about you.’

‘It seems we have what they call a Mexican stand-off,’ observed Devereau drily. His revolver was trained on Molly. ‘One on one, as it were.’

‘No old boy. Two on one!’ It was Orly who now stepped to Molly’s right side. The pocket of his jacket was smouldering where a neat hole had been drilled through the cloth. ‘Ruined a good jacket there, by Jove.’ He produced the small Browning automatic that had done the damage on its way to catch Murgatroyd in mid-draw.

‘Nah yous guys. It’s two on two,’ growled Sergeant Monty Behre from the doorway that led to the dining room, having entered through a side window. He held a huge police revolver.

‘I don’t think so, my dear fellow.’ It was Cuthbert Brentford who now spoke. ‘Three to two I believe!’ In his hand he held the monstrous automatic dropped by Murgatroyd when Orly’s bullet struck his hand.

A window smashed. ‘Police! Throw down your weapons!’ It was Sergeant Sarah Jenn.

Molly chuckled. ‘I think we’re back to the X equals zero position.’

Devereau nodded, appreciating the irony. Then, ‘Sergeant Jenn, Sergeant Behre. Put away your guns.’

‘Brentford? Orly?’ said Molly.

Brentford reversed Murgatroyd’s huge weapon and, holding it by the barrel, placed it on a nearby bureau with a shrug. Orly slipped his little automatic back into his pocket. Devereau and Molly Fusil were now the only persons with drawn pistols.

‘I suggest the price for avoiding further unpleasantness is to allow you and your friends safe passage away from here,’ Devereau said urbanely. ‘By the way,’ he added, ‘Interesting to see you again, Molly, in these circumstances.’

Molly Fusil nodded. ‘And you too, Clive.’

When did Clive Devereau ever meet Molly Fusil, and why are they on a first-name basis? Melody wondered. She looked speculatively from the Latin beauty to the sophisticated DORFIS head. Then Melody remembered herself with a start. Turning, she took up the old trench coat from the floor where it had fallen in the struggle with Jasmine and, with great dignity, pulled it on, making sure that every button was fastened to the neck and that the belt was buckled firmly about her waist. It really was a most comfortable and versatile garment.

‘We shan’t delay you,’ said Devereau.

At a nod from Molly, Orly and Brentford left. Johnny Montague deposited Mia gently onto the sofa next to Melody and exited with a small bow to the room in general. Big Bill Hudson brought up the rear.

Molly Fusil was about to follow her cohorts when, yielding to a sudden impulse, she turned and crossed the floor to Melody and took her hand. ‘I’m ... glad that you’re safe,’ she said awkwardly.

‘Thank you for helping us,’ responded Melody. In reply, Molly bent forward and kissed Melody lightly on the cheek.

She turned to Mia and took the young woman’s hand. ‘You too. I ... I’m sorry for the things I did to you, Mia Chantal, but in this business ... I’d do the same again. No hard feelings?’

‘A few,’ said Mia, ‘but I’ll get over it. I think I understand.’

‘Good.’ Molly crossed back to the door and turned, her breathtakingly beautiful body silhouetted in its frame. Molly Fusil’s eyes panned across the room. They paused momentarily when they came to Jasmine’s still recumbent form, stopping again when her gaze rested on Sir Herbert Murgatroyd, who was still sitting on the floor in a small pool of blood. She gave a withering look at Karl who was beginning to move sluggishly. Then her gaze returned to Murgatroyd and the disdain in her eyes reminded Melody sharply of the expression, ‘if looks could kill.’ Molly Fusil appraised the DORFIS representatives and their allies one more time. ‘Destinos, si?’ And with those final words she swept from the room.

‘What an exit!’ breathed Mia in admiration. Everyone in the room who was still standing drew a collective sigh.

‘Hmm,’ mused Devereau. ‘Sergeant Behre, Sergeant Jenn, Brod. Arrest our three miscreants, read them their rights, and lock them in the wagon. You’ll have to give that man first aid. The jail infirmary will do the rest.’

‘I’ll find something hot for our ladies,’ volunteered Oscar.

‘Can you find our clothes too?’ asked Melody. ‘They might be in one of the other rooms.’

Melody and Mia threw their arms around each other and hugged ecstatically. ‘It’s over,’ said Mia, ‘All that danger, those agonising ropes, those horrible gags ...’

‘Don’t think about it, Mia darling. Your bravery got us through it all.’

‘Don’t be modest. You’re as brave as me!’

‘That can have two meanings,’ replied Melody wryly.

*

Twenty minutes later the scene had changed from one of incipient carnage to something more like the beginnings of a champagne breakfast. The sun was rising, though it had to fight its way through a few remaining storm clouds. Melody and Mia were dressed and sitting side by side on the sofa, hot mugs of steaming coffee cradled in their hands. Mia wore the slim skirt, lace blouse and jacket; Melody wore her orange silk dress. They shared the old trench coat, draped across both their shoulders. In armchairs ranged in front of the two women sat Devereau, Oscar Holme and Brod, mugs of coffee also in their hands. And there was champagne. A bottle of the clear bubbly liquid stood in a tray on the bureau ringed by five crystal glasses. It had not yet been broached.

The wash of relieved tension now that Murgatroyd was apprehended left both young women feeling exhausted. But the warm liquid was beginning to restore a semblance of order to their lives. Quiet and relative calm descended upon the group. Melody looked at the assembled agents and announced sweetly, ‘I think this is the right moment for me to tell the results of my investigations.’

‘It’s certainly the right place,’ said Mia, ‘in a drawing room like in a Poirot or an A.E.W. Mason novel. Only this is not so much a drawing room as an audience room. That’s what Miles said once.’

She stopped and a look of grief and loss crossed her face. Devereau and Oscar exchanged significant glances. Broderick Clifford missed the body language between the two men because he was watching Melody intently.

‘Yes,’ agreed Brod, ‘It’s time you debriefed us. But I don’t suppose it will lead us closer to the diamond. The trail’s too cold.’

Melody sat up straight, brushed a loose strand of hair from her eyes and paused a few seconds for dramatic effect and to collect her thoughts.

‘Well, it goes back to that first day when the jewellery store was robbed. I’ve tried over and over to reconstruct exactly what happened, step by step. But it was such a frightening experience that I left big chunks out of my statements, the first statement to the police and then the one I gave to Brod and Oscar the next day. But it wasn’t until we were talking that night when Oscar came staggering in to us - remember, you’d been beaten up by Montague and Karl,’ Oscar Holme nodded ruefully.

‘And I gave myself the clue when I said something about Jasmine having become a nuisance ever since we bumped into each other. Then the memory of that moment suddenly became clearer. It was so confusing being pushed through that door to the office. I remember Jasmine gave me quite a knock and I fell onto my knees. So I thought what if Jasmine had the diamond in her hand? Where could she have put it between the moment we tumbled into that room and when Karl tied us up? I thought she might have slipped it under a mat. There was a small scatter carpet somewhere. But she was not likely to have put the diamond there. Then I considered another scenario. Instead of searching for the diamond the night she broke into my flat, what if Jasmine planted it there, intending to divert the thieves’ attentions from herself? She would have intended to steal it back when conditions were safer.

‘But another possibility came to mind only yesterday when Murgatroyd tied me up in my own room and Brentford, Orly and Jasmine all came bursting in. Jasmine went straight to my wardrobe and rummaged about among my clothes. She found what she thought she was looking for, but she became quite hysterical when she discovered it wasn’t the right thing. That’s when Murgatroyd made his escape by diving through the window. And after that, at Jasmine’s instigation, the three of them abducted me and took me to a warehouse. Jasmine’s search for whatever it was, was forgotten.

‘Excuse me, Mia.’ Melody rose to her feet and, taking the large trench coat from their shoulders, she shook it out and held it aloft dramatically. ‘I recognise this now, it’s the ridiculous coat I wore on the day of the robbery. It must have had quite a history since then. I was wearing it when I was abducted by Karl and taken to this place in a different car. When I regained consciousness, the narrowness of the trunk told me that it was not the Mercedes, and I was in my skirt and blouse. The overcoat had been taken off me.’

‘I think I can fill in the next part,’ exclaimed Mia excitedly. ‘When Murgatroyd seized me on the cliff top he made me wear that coat after binding my hands. I was really glad of it because it kept me warm.’

‘It’s a wonderful coat, Mia. Not much to look at, I grant you, but it probably helped to save your life. After hanging in my wardrobe for ages, it must have been lying in that old car after my ride in the trunk, until you came along, so to speak.’ Melody shivered at the thought of the experiences both separate and shared that she and Mia had had in so many narrow spaces.

Melody continued. ‘Jasmine did have that diamond during the robbery. On an impulse she snatched it from its case the moment Karl and Hudson burst into the shop. And she would have been holding it in her hand when she banged into me, purposely, and slipped it into one of the coat’s pockets. You can see she had a lot of pockets to choose from. Some are quite hidden.’

‘But is it there now?’ asked Mia suspiciously. ‘The explanation sounds too simple.’

‘There’s one way of finding out.’

Melody began searching methodically while the others watched with bated breath. The old trench coat seemed to have innumerable pockets. But there was one pocket in particular in which Melody delved. Her arm went in to mid-wrist and, when she withdrew it, her hand held something that caught a sudden glancing beam of morning light from a high window. In triumph Melody raised the object for all to see. The facets of the exquisite gem sent rainbow flashes to their eyes.

‘I felt something lumpy press into me from time to time when I moved,’ breathed Mia, ‘but I never dreamed ... How ironic though! All the time Murgatroyd and Karl and the others were searching for the diamond it was there, literally within their grasp.’

For several seconds Melody stood admiring the diamond. Then she placed it reverently into Clive Devereau’s hands. Devereau in his turn walked to the bureau and laid the fractal gem beside the crystal goblets. He took up the champagne bottle, popped the cork, and filled the five glasses. When everyone had their glass, Devereau raised his in a toast:

‘To Melody Hazard and Mia Chantal! And to The Duck’s Egg Diamond!’

*

Half an hour later, Devereau, Oscar and Brod were in deep conference in one of the chateau’s meeting rooms. The two police sergeants had left in their squad car, trailing the paddy wagon with its load of miserable criminals. Mia and Melody prepared more coffee in the kitchen and settled down to compare notes. They did not have time to become bored however, for Brod soon re-entered the room. Two beautiful heads turned expectantly in his direction. Brod coughed, a trifle nervously Melody thought.

‘Ah. Melody, you and I can go back to the city. There’s nothing more to be done here that concerns either of us. But,’ he nodded to Mia, ‘the old man would like a word with you before you go, another debriefing I’m afraid. It may take a long time. You know what a stickler Devereau is for details. You’ll go back with Oscar and the boss. I know how inseparable you’ve become, but there’s dinner planned for this evening, what you might call a real celebration dinner.’

Mia looked to Melody and made a pretty pout. ‘I guess we have to go along with the bureaucracy. See you tonight.’

‘That’s for sure.’

The two women embraced, then Melody gathered up her things and walked to one of the squad cars. Brod escorted Mia to the conference room door, ushered her in, and turned to follow Melody.

Clive Devereau and Oscar Holme were sitting at a large oval table. When she saw their thoughtful almost stern faces, Mia felt as though she was a recalcitrant schoolgirl brought up before the principal. Taking a deep breath, she walked forwards and, without waiting to be invited, sat gracefully in one of the chairs opposite her inquisitors. ‘Okay, fire away.’

A flicker of what could have been a smile crossed Devereau’s face. ‘Miss Chantal, this may not take as long as expected,’ he began. ‘There is first of all the matter of ...’

‘Chief?’ Oscar Holme had been trying to catch Devereau’s eye.

‘Uh, yes Oscar?’ Devereau inclined his head graciously, not minding the interruption.

‘These papers, ahh ...’

‘Oh yes. Forgetful of me.’ A look of regret, almost embarrassment, creased Devereau’s face. ‘Ah, Miss Chantal ... Mia. Would you mind waiting in that room?’ He indicated one of the doors behind him. ‘This will only take a few minutes. The paperwork you know, there’s always too much of it.’

Feeling a little confused, and a trifle cross, Mia Chantal rose and passed into the waiting room. A glance back over her shoulder saw Oscar Holme and his superior, their heads bowed together, talking earnestly in murmuring voices. They looked for all the world like monks from a different age.

The room Mia found herself in was one of several small antechambers that were scattered through the mansion. This particular one she knew led to the big library. She sat in an armchair facing the door she had just come through, prepared to wait as patiently as she could while the big men talked their secret business of national importance. She was chafing to be with Melody. There was so much to catch up on.

A faint click came to her ears, telling Mia that someone had just entered through the library door behind her. She turned and sat frozen to the spot. Framed in the doorway stood Miles deVille, as large as life.

Mia stumbled to her feet. ‘Miles! You - you’re ...’

‘Alive, my darling. Oh yes.’

Mia flung herself into his arms. Some minutes later when they allowed their mouths to become unglued temporarily, Mia managed to gasp a couple of words. ‘Miles, how ...’

‘How did I survive? I had my hands around that bastard’s throat when we hit the briny, but the force of the fall and the rush of the waves broke my grip and we were torn apart. When I reached the surface his head was bobbing several yards away. I dived and went after him, hoping to find it easier-going under the waves. But this time the current dragged me down, and dangerously close to the cliff. When I managed to resurface, there was no sign of Karl. He had been swept away along the cliff’s foot and, I hoped, dashed against the rocks. No such luck, as it turned out. As it was, I was lucky myself to be washed onto a narrow beach.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us, me, that you were alive?’

‘I was going to make a heroic reappearance, but the boss said I could be more valuable to the Organisation if the criminal element thought I was dead and no longer a threat. And that’s how it is. There’s a lot of mopping up to be done before we close the chapter on Murgatroyd’s empire. And, Mia, we have to ask some very special sacrifices of you, my darling.’

Mia’s heart sank. She suspected what was coming. But she put on a brave face and said, ‘Anything, my love, so long as we’re together again, eventually.’ But she was fighting back tears.

‘Well, that’s it,’ said Miles anxiously. ‘First, we can no longer see each other regularly. Any future meetings will have to be carefully timed and done in the utmost secrecy, through DORFIS channels.’ Mia nodded, biting her lip. ‘Second, you are not to mention this to anyone, not even to your closest friend Melody. No one is to know. For one thing, if it leaked out that I was alive, you would be in serious danger. They could easily get at me through you.’

Mia nodded again, her lip quivering. ‘And I’ve had enough of being kidnapped and bound and gagged and sewn up in bags and strapped into bondage hoods to last a lifetime,’ she added. She was shaking. Miles held her tight in his arms and no further words passed between them for a very long time.

Later, in Devereau’s car, Mia watched the chateau receding in the mist. Her face was glowing. Her body felt warm and alive. She knew that sadness and tears might come, but she had been an hour in the arms of her lover. He was alive, and the world was a good place to be.

In another place an equally intense encounter was unfolding. Johnny Montague and Molly Fusil faced each other across a very ordinary motel room. Molly, clean and fresh after her bath, wore a translucent silk nightgown that left very little to the imagination. Johnny, his tie askew and jacket still dusty and torn from the fight in the chateau, carried a towel over his arm, ready to use the bathroom.

‘Before you refresh yourself, amor mio, come see.’

Molly half turned and lowered part of her gown to reveal her back from the right shoulder to the two lovely dimples near the base of the spine. Johnny emitted a low tuneless whistle and his face became white and grave. ‘Sweetheart ... Kid!’ Across Molly’s back and shoulder could be seen fine white scars. They were faded from the passage of years but, all the same, they were clearly permanent.

‘Johnny, I was whipped,’ Molly said almost in a whisper. ‘When I was very young, I was kidnapped and sold through Murgatroyd’s network.’

‘You poor kid. That’s why you stopped Jasmine when she began to whip Melody.’

‘There was six months of hell, Johnny. Then a chance came for freedom and I took it. They would have killed me if they’d caught up with me. From that time I waged a one-woman war against Murgatroyd and his white slavery empire. In a roundabout way, I became an agent for DORFIS.’

‘That’s the crowd we tangled with at the chateau?’

‘Yes. And that’s why their chief let us go. I’m telling you in confidence, Johnny. But we’re not working for them directly.’

‘Just keeping an eye on things, you might say?’

‘Si. You need to know, Johnny, if we’re going to be colleagues. More than colleagues.’

‘Yeah. A man like me doesn’t find a chance with an amazin’ woman like you every day. I’m yours, Sweetheart, for life. You know that.’

‘Whatever that might bring?’ Johnny nodded seriously. ‘And I’m yours too, Johnny. Now, get yourself cleaned up before you come to bed.’

When Johnny Montague stepped out of the bathroom, briskly towelling his hair, he came to a rigid halt and stared in astonishment at the sight that met his eyes. Molly Fusil lay on the bed, her breasts barely covered by the satin sheet. Her ankles were bound separately to the bedposts with scarves. Her arms were raised above her, each wrist circled by a white handkerchief and fastened to the decorative ironwork at the head of the bed. Slowly Johnny approached. Molly raised her head and smiled.

Johnny’s towel drop unnoticed to the floor.

‘Take me, Johnny. Do what you will with me, amor mio.’

Johnny’s face lit up with a mischievous grin. ‘I heard on the underworld grapevine one time, you have a reputation as a very dangerous woman. Some fellers said your voice drove men mad!’

‘You have to take a few risks in life, Johnny. But remember, this is for you. No other man will ever witness this part of my nature.’

‘Anyhoo, I c’n take precautions,’ muttered Johnny as he walked towards the bedside table where a small pile of scarves and a couple of his own handkerchiefs lay.

It was the longest night Johnny Montague could remember.